Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Discrepancy
Burn Down The Video Machine
3 reviewsOoh, the drama. I feel bad. I've turned my story into a cliche because of my love for drama. Don't kill me. I am so sorry.
0Unrated
Author's Note: I am sorry, this chapter was not read over. I felt the need to update so I failed to read through my chapter and delete typos or errors. If there are any, please notify me and I'll fix them.
Glancing out into the hallway from my seat on the sofa and wondering why people always came over but never left, I realised that the walls were scarily similar to the front door. In fact, the front door and the walls looked almost identical. And then it dawned on me; no wonder no one ever left my house, they couldn't find the front door to leave!
It was easy to find the front door from the outside because the outside walls of my home were creamy white whereas the door was red and had a gold '72' stuck to the top of it despite that no other houses or apartments on the entire block were numbered. It just made me feel good to be individual. And it meant that it was easier to find my house because all of the houses on the block had creamy white walls and red front doors.
Suddenly, the living room of my apartment seemed considerably smaller, more cramped and even more claustrophobic than it had ever been in the past two (almost three) years that I had been living here.
Upon deciding that it was impossible to tell my front door from the surrounding walls whilst one was on the inside of my home, I realised that not being to tell the difference between my front door and my walls was leaving me feeling trapped though Courtney's constant presence thwarted the loneliness.
"Perhaps I ought to paint my front door," I mumbled. Purple might be a nice colour. Actually, I didn't like purple too much. Or maybe black. Courtney would never allow it. She hates all black because it is so easy to tell if it's dusty or unclean. Or silver. Courtney says silver is the cheapest colour ever. Or green. Courtney would allow green. It's a colour that reminds one of spring and spring-cleaning. Courtney likes to clean.
And knowing that I was going to paint my front door the following day (or whenever I got around to it which was probably never) I felt better because I knew that Patrick Stumph, who was sitting in my own living room too close to me for my liking, would be able to find his way out of my house eventually. Perhaps I should paint the outside of my front door creamy white. I wasn't too fond of visitors... especially ones who were irritating and shorter than I.
At this point I noticed that I was receiving odd looks from Jeffers who was sat on the opposite side of the room. Maybe it was the look in my eyes that said I was not thinking about telling Joe that he should leave fixing the video machine to me, seeing as I was the expert. Not meaning to toot my own horn but I was rather good at fixing video machines... that expression is stupid. Horns don't toot, they honk.
"Fixed it!" Joe exclaimed proudly. I looked up. The video machine appeared to be fixed.
"If it's fixed, why is it now smoking?" Mister Anonymous asked with a look of great amusement on his face.
All eyes turned to the video machine that was, as Mister Anonymous had said, smoking. I gasped. Joe had killed my video-playing machine.
Hold up! Mister Anonymous? Since when did he constitute as being one of Joe's friends. The only friends that Joe had were his parents, Jeffers and I and his band mates. Why had I not realised that I was sitting next to Mister Anonymous and had been doing so for the past fourteen minutes? I was clearly not a very observant person.
Oh, the drama.
Perhaps he's Joe's mother. That's messed up. He could be Joe's father. No! Think rationally, logically. How could I not have realised this? It is so blatant. He's a clone of me (no one would want to make a clone of Jeffers) and he has the power to morph. Or maybe... maybe I am the clone!
"Am I the clone or are you?"
"Er... I'm not a clone," Mister Anonymous stated. He looked nervous. That alone proved that he was lying.
"Charley! Stop scaring Peter!" Jeffers' voice was dangerous and low so I moved away. Peter... that name rang a bell. I had no idea why. I wasn't even aware of the bells in my mind.
"But I can't figure it out, is he a clone of me or one of Joe's parents? How does he relate to Joe? Why is he in my living room if he does not relate to Joe?" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air to express my confusion and add to the drama.
"I helped Joe found the band," Peter explained.
"Oh. So you are his mother? I thought so," I nodded in a way that I hoped was understanding and patted his shoulder consolingly.
Peter's brow furrowed and Jeffers hands came into contact with her face and Patrick rolled his eyes and said, "For the love of God, Charley, can't you just be mature?"
In a way that suggested hurt but was really a way to buy me precious seconds to think up a comeback, I threw my hand to where my heart was. Only to remember that my heart was actually on my left side, not my right. So I shifted my hand.
"That's rich coming from you!"
"What are you talking about?" Patrick asked, just like I'd known he would.
"Mature is a synonym for fully grown," I looked at my nails as if I couldn't have been less interested but really teasing Patrick about his height in an unfriendly way was very interesting and entertaining to me because I'm a cruel person.
Patrick did not reply but simply turned away from me and engaged Andy, the Jesus look-alike, in conversation. It was evident that I had won. Patrick versus Charley. Charley, one. Patrick, nil.
Meanwhile, the video machine was still not working and I had no DVD player. I was very 'behind the times'. I glared at Joe with all the ferocity I could muster. He avoided my gaze. The little asshole obviously knows what's coming to him. Mister Fist-of-Charley.
"Joe!" I whined, "You broke it!"
"No, no I didn't."
"This is like a china teapot shop, y'know," I stated.
"You don't own any china."
"What I mean to say is, you break it, you pay for it."
"But it wasn't for sale!"
"So? I need to replace it! How can I replace it with no replacement money, paid to me by the idiot boy who broke it?"
"How much?" Joe sighed.
"Sixty-two hundred," I grinned.
"Forget it."
"Asswipe."
The doorbell rang and Jeffers jumped up, "That'll be the pizza guy." She left the room quickly and I got the impression that she was glad to be out of the living room. The drama-filled atmosphere was probably smothering her.
Author's Note: PLEASE don't hurt me, this chapter makes me feel so evil. I don't know why. The beginning rantings were inspired by my friend Harriet. I don't know how she thinks of these things.
Now rate and review because you love me and I love you.
Glancing out into the hallway from my seat on the sofa and wondering why people always came over but never left, I realised that the walls were scarily similar to the front door. In fact, the front door and the walls looked almost identical. And then it dawned on me; no wonder no one ever left my house, they couldn't find the front door to leave!
It was easy to find the front door from the outside because the outside walls of my home were creamy white whereas the door was red and had a gold '72' stuck to the top of it despite that no other houses or apartments on the entire block were numbered. It just made me feel good to be individual. And it meant that it was easier to find my house because all of the houses on the block had creamy white walls and red front doors.
Suddenly, the living room of my apartment seemed considerably smaller, more cramped and even more claustrophobic than it had ever been in the past two (almost three) years that I had been living here.
Upon deciding that it was impossible to tell my front door from the surrounding walls whilst one was on the inside of my home, I realised that not being to tell the difference between my front door and my walls was leaving me feeling trapped though Courtney's constant presence thwarted the loneliness.
"Perhaps I ought to paint my front door," I mumbled. Purple might be a nice colour. Actually, I didn't like purple too much. Or maybe black. Courtney would never allow it. She hates all black because it is so easy to tell if it's dusty or unclean. Or silver. Courtney says silver is the cheapest colour ever. Or green. Courtney would allow green. It's a colour that reminds one of spring and spring-cleaning. Courtney likes to clean.
And knowing that I was going to paint my front door the following day (or whenever I got around to it which was probably never) I felt better because I knew that Patrick Stumph, who was sitting in my own living room too close to me for my liking, would be able to find his way out of my house eventually. Perhaps I should paint the outside of my front door creamy white. I wasn't too fond of visitors... especially ones who were irritating and shorter than I.
At this point I noticed that I was receiving odd looks from Jeffers who was sat on the opposite side of the room. Maybe it was the look in my eyes that said I was not thinking about telling Joe that he should leave fixing the video machine to me, seeing as I was the expert. Not meaning to toot my own horn but I was rather good at fixing video machines... that expression is stupid. Horns don't toot, they honk.
"Fixed it!" Joe exclaimed proudly. I looked up. The video machine appeared to be fixed.
"If it's fixed, why is it now smoking?" Mister Anonymous asked with a look of great amusement on his face.
All eyes turned to the video machine that was, as Mister Anonymous had said, smoking. I gasped. Joe had killed my video-playing machine.
Hold up! Mister Anonymous? Since when did he constitute as being one of Joe's friends. The only friends that Joe had were his parents, Jeffers and I and his band mates. Why had I not realised that I was sitting next to Mister Anonymous and had been doing so for the past fourteen minutes? I was clearly not a very observant person.
Oh, the drama.
Perhaps he's Joe's mother. That's messed up. He could be Joe's father. No! Think rationally, logically. How could I not have realised this? It is so blatant. He's a clone of me (no one would want to make a clone of Jeffers) and he has the power to morph. Or maybe... maybe I am the clone!
"Am I the clone or are you?"
"Er... I'm not a clone," Mister Anonymous stated. He looked nervous. That alone proved that he was lying.
"Charley! Stop scaring Peter!" Jeffers' voice was dangerous and low so I moved away. Peter... that name rang a bell. I had no idea why. I wasn't even aware of the bells in my mind.
"But I can't figure it out, is he a clone of me or one of Joe's parents? How does he relate to Joe? Why is he in my living room if he does not relate to Joe?" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air to express my confusion and add to the drama.
"I helped Joe found the band," Peter explained.
"Oh. So you are his mother? I thought so," I nodded in a way that I hoped was understanding and patted his shoulder consolingly.
Peter's brow furrowed and Jeffers hands came into contact with her face and Patrick rolled his eyes and said, "For the love of God, Charley, can't you just be mature?"
In a way that suggested hurt but was really a way to buy me precious seconds to think up a comeback, I threw my hand to where my heart was. Only to remember that my heart was actually on my left side, not my right. So I shifted my hand.
"That's rich coming from you!"
"What are you talking about?" Patrick asked, just like I'd known he would.
"Mature is a synonym for fully grown," I looked at my nails as if I couldn't have been less interested but really teasing Patrick about his height in an unfriendly way was very interesting and entertaining to me because I'm a cruel person.
Patrick did not reply but simply turned away from me and engaged Andy, the Jesus look-alike, in conversation. It was evident that I had won. Patrick versus Charley. Charley, one. Patrick, nil.
Meanwhile, the video machine was still not working and I had no DVD player. I was very 'behind the times'. I glared at Joe with all the ferocity I could muster. He avoided my gaze. The little asshole obviously knows what's coming to him. Mister Fist-of-Charley.
"Joe!" I whined, "You broke it!"
"No, no I didn't."
"This is like a china teapot shop, y'know," I stated.
"You don't own any china."
"What I mean to say is, you break it, you pay for it."
"But it wasn't for sale!"
"So? I need to replace it! How can I replace it with no replacement money, paid to me by the idiot boy who broke it?"
"How much?" Joe sighed.
"Sixty-two hundred," I grinned.
"Forget it."
"Asswipe."
The doorbell rang and Jeffers jumped up, "That'll be the pizza guy." She left the room quickly and I got the impression that she was glad to be out of the living room. The drama-filled atmosphere was probably smothering her.
Author's Note: PLEASE don't hurt me, this chapter makes me feel so evil. I don't know why. The beginning rantings were inspired by my friend Harriet. I don't know how she thinks of these things.
Now rate and review because you love me and I love you.
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